Vallaslins aren't for beauty
I'm 17, and I haven't gotten my vallaslin yet. That's not too bad, very few people have been judged ready this young, anyway. Except Adahlen. He's undergoing the ritual, right now. They waited far too long for him, if you ask me. He's always been ready. Always mature, focused, judicious.
And here I am, painting my face as if I were playing with dolls.
I'm 17, and even if they hadn't declined my request for a vallaslin twice already, it wouldn't have mattered. I still don't know what God I should choose for myself. All the other girls and boys in the clan have chosen theirs. Adahlen has been saying he wanted Dirthamen since he was six years old.
And here I am, painting June's symbol on my skin only because I think it might look pretty on my features.
I'm 17, and despite it all I can't wait to get my vallaslin, whenever that may be. My mother says I'm a late bloomer. That I just have to be patient and everything will come at the right time. Well, surprise! I'm very bad at waiting.
At this very moment my best friend is suffering through one thousand needles to become officially an adult. And here I am, hidden in the dark, because I haven't even had the patience to wait for him outside the Keeper's tent to see what he looks like once the ritual is done. How can they hope I'll have enough patience to wait for my own time to come?
I'm 17, and maybe they are right. I am not ready yet.
I wonder if I'll ever be.